I have a love-hate relationship with writer’s conferences.
I love to connect with people, attend readings and workshops, and learn more about the craft of writing.
But I usually leave feeling overwhelmed and inadequate.
Build a platform.
Make a website.
Write consistently every day.
Here is my writing space.
There are a few sleeping bags at my feet (the noisy boys were making a fort), a green froggie towel (the preschooler must have wandered in after bath time and dropped it), a few items I’m selling on ebay, a garbage can overflowing with used Kleenex (I get emotional when I write. Plus, well, allergies), a few printed copies of an edited document that I need to put in the recycling bin, a printed contract I need to mail in for my real job…you get the idea.
Conditions are not ideal.
My website? Um. Right.
The Llama Momma.
Here’s what I know about myself: I’m a writer because I love to write. Mostly every day, and mostly during the fringe hours—early in the morning before the kids are awake or at night when they’re asleep. I write in fits and starts, and don’t keep very good records. It has taken me almost two years to write and edit and rewrite a 55,000 word young adult novel. Two years.
In the fiction workshop I attended, the author cranks out three good novels every year.
Would I have more creative energy if I had a better writing space? Maybe. Would I get more done if I had more writing time? Probably.
But it is what it is.
I have three young children, a part-time job, a volunteer job, a husband, and a big house that insists on getting messy on a consistent basis. Oh, and all these people I live with? They’re always hungry.
This is my life.
I am a mother. I am a writer.
I am me.